


Hot and Bothered aka Biscuit Fic

by 221A_brina



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: (At Least That's What THEY Said, (Though I Hope Not), Afternoon (Or Is It Evening?) Delight, And Desk Dancing, Arguments and Anger, Bickering and Biscuits, But It Gets Better (Promise), Cookies and Canoodling, Distractions and Dalliances, E Is For Everyone, F/M, First Time, HUNGRY!, How Is Harvey Wallbanger One Word?!, Hungry Jack!, I Got Better, Knickers In A Twist, Like really angry, Major SERIOUS Anger, No Harvey But Definitely Wall Banging, Not kidding, Office Shagnanigans, Panty Raid, Play Sta-tion, Potential trigger warning, She Turned Me Into A Newt, Tasty Treat, You're Supposed To Feel Uncomfortable, debriefing, fair warning, finger lickin' good, kiss and make up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 09:58:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17221814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221A_brina/pseuds/221A_brina
Summary: Things heat up at City South and almost come to blows. (Insert suggestive eyebrow waggle & smirk here.) Initially in a very not good, really bad way. But it gets better. I promise. Aka: Yet another silly/crazy Slack conversation resulting in ficcing shagnanigans? Argument/Biscuit Fic... finally.Whumptober prompt word: manhandling





	Hot and Bothered aka Biscuit Fic

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies ahead of time for the words emphasized in ALL CAPS and **bold**. Phrack were yelling at each other. Really REALLY loud… at times. I just took dictation and wrote it the way they said it. (Thank goodness they couldn’t see me.)
> 
> This started out as a short fic, but as is typical Phrack fashion, things got out of hand… as it were.
> 
> Special thanks to aurora_australis for reminding me of the Harvey Wallbanger reference. (Cocktail shaker? What do you want, a Harvey Wallbanger? … It’s a song. Mammy? Camptown Races? // I need a shock. // Right then, big shock coming up.) XO!

Inspector Robinson entered his office through the back door, pulling it closed - much louder than he’d intended, but not so hard that it slammed shut. He locked the door, leaning back on it momentarily.   

 _Damn it all, woman!_ Sometimes... sometimes he just wanted to wring her pretty little neck. _Why?! **Why** wouldn’t she **listen**?! _  

He perched one hand on his hip whilst the other met his bowed head, raking across his brows and massaging his temples. He paused a moment, trying to gather his wits, then moved towards the front door of his office in hopes of staving off any more interference from the ever-meddlesome Miss Fisher. He was a step away, his arm reaching towards the doorknob when the fractious femme fatale entered with a shout, managing to slam the door behind her.   

“What in **BLAZES** was **that** , Jack?!” she demanded, arms crossing forcefully over her chest, a raging fury flooding her face. Her eyes, only hinting at the brewing storm, attempted to burn holes through his skull.  

“ **That** is what is known in law enforcement parlance as an interrogation. Questioning the suspect? Something I was under the **distinct** impression you were familiar with, Miss Fisher.” Exasperated, he gestured towards her with an open palm before settling it on his hip, arms akimbo, hands tucked under his jacket, sarcasm dripping off his tongue.   

“Don’t get flippant with me, Jack!” she blustered, voice growing louder and stronger with every word, her body pushing closer and closer to the subject of her ire.  

His jaw clenched at her brazen insolence. “The Deputy Commissioner had every right to proceed as he saw fit. It's HIS operation.” Jack countered with just as much insistence.  

“Well the Deputy Commissioner can HANG for all I care.” She shouted, antagonism bursting from every word, arms flailing outwards.  

“Phry-neee......” His voice warned, growling deep and low, rising on the last syllable.   

She was treading a thin line; skating on the veritable edge. And if she crossed it... he feared **she** might be the one who’s life would be in peril.   

He angled in her direction in an attempt to corral her towards the chair. “HE’S not the one who will hang. And if you don’t have a care, he might be inclined to leave **you** to do just that. Hopefully not in the literal sense.”  

“SENSE?!” she spat out, rancor heavily enveloping the solitary word. “The man has none!”  

“This?! Coming from a woman who regularly throws any **modicum** of sense she has to the wind? Who frequently and **impulsively** dives into situations with no plans, or back-up, or... or... or **ANY** thought to consequence of her actions?!” He was livid; he pounded his fist on his desk in frustration.   

Phryne flinched at the sound, but didn’t back down. She braced herself, preparing to fire another salvo. She defiantly strode toward him, drawing herself up to her full height (with the added support and extension of her lovely feathered hat, thereby adding several more stylish inches), puffing up her chest, and forcefully delivering her next round.  

“I **had** a plan! A very carefully crafted plan, which THAT SUSPECT,” she roared, pointing in the general direction of the Interview Room, “ **shredded to ribbons** the moment he attempted to do the same with my dress!” She looked down at her torn gown, mourning its most assured loss. Phryne Fisher would allow for rude behavior and underhandedness in a murder suspect, but she drew the line at the wanton destruction of meticulously crafted haute couture. “I’ve a mind to make him pay for damages.” She swung her arm back in the direction of the rear door, and as she did, her arm connected with the paper tray on the desk, knocking it off with a loud clatter.  

“Sit **down** , Miss Fisher,” Jack said, crouching down, grabbing the tray and scattered papers. He unceremoniously stuffed the papers into the tray, then slammed the tray onto the desk, his jaw clenching in exasperation.    

“Thank you, Jack,” she ground out, lips thinning, as she clicked the end consonant of his name, “but I prefer to stand.”  

“Sit. DOWN,” he enunciated crisply. When she made no move to comply, he capitulated. “Fine," he sighed heavily. "Have it your way. As always.”   

A frustrated puff of air escaped her lips at his barb.   

The detective leaned against the side of his desk and crossed his arms. “Why must you **constantly** take matters into your own hands? Often to your own detriment, I might add, **and** to anyone in your immediate vicinity.” His jaw tightened as he heard her ‘tsk’ an indrawn breath, as if she were girding for another volley. He cut her off before she could get started.  

"Do you **ever** THINK what the consequences might be for those around you? That your actions may have repercussions for someone **other** than yourself?” He was seething, anger bubbling barely below the surface. He forcefully stuffed both hands into his trouser pockets in an attempt to hide tight-fisted white knuckles.  

Her eyes narrowed, unamused, arms planting firmly on her hips in defiance. “I was well aware of what the repercussions **could have been** had Simms followed through with his intent. You’re fortunate I got to him when I did!” she announced, daring him to contradict her.   

Jack eased up from his desk, bringing him up to his full height while slowly shifting in her direction, hands settling on hips. “So you thought it **prudent** to insert yourself between the suspect and Miss Daniels?” His hands began to shake again. “ **Knowing** Simms was dangerous, and had a long history of violence?”

He cupped his face with his hand, and ran his fingers down his cheeks. “You could have been seriously injured!” he shouted, jabbing the air towards her with a long finger, pointing at her for emphasis. “Let **alone** gotten yourself KILLED!” A slight spray of spittle escaped his lips as he spoke, the vehemence in his words a tangible thing hanging on the air.  

“I knew what I was doing, Jack,” she flustered.   

"That’s not the POINT, Miss Fisher. The point is, **I** did not. **Nor** did the officers with me.”  

“Forgive me, Inspector, for not thinking to plan a staff meeting beforehand,” she replied haughtily, trying to play down the truth in his words.  

“Thinking ahead - that’s not your usual modus operandi, now is it? It’s that **cavalier** attitude that gets you into trouble. Or rather, let me amend that to say, that’s what’s gotten ME into hot water with my superiors.” He gestured wildly in the direction of the Interview Room.  

There was a soft rapping on the front door.   

“I never intended - ”  

“You never DO, that’s the **point**!” Jack’s voice began to rise again. “You rush headlong, willy-nilly into -”  

The rapping continued. This time louder and sharper, interrupting the pother.  

Jack closed the distance from the desk to the door in an instant. He quickly grabbed the doorknob, whipping the door open enough to reveal his face to his waiting constable.  

What Hugh Collins saw frightened him. He couldn't recall a time he'd seen the Inspector that angry, that incensed, that close to the razor’s edge; red faced and shaking, vibrating with a dangerous energy that threatened to let loose on anyone foolish enough to cross its path.   

“Not. Now. Collins!” he hissed through thin lips, jaw clenched, cheeks hollowed and gaunt.  

The constable bounced from one foot to the other as if standing barefoot on hot coals, hopping and switching feet, praying to find relief from the scorching heat below.  

“But sir,” Hugh stammered. “The... the Deputy Commissioner is leaving for Russell Street, sir. He, ah, asked that you be informed, and that…” a sudden flush raced up his neck into his hairline. In the next instant all the blood drained from his face leaving him pale, weak, and ashen. His Adam’s apple bobbed nervously as he gulped, the ensuing dizziness making him woozy. His stomach bottomed out, leaving him hovering on the edge of nausea, threatening to send him spiraling into unconsciousness.  

“Tell him I’ll ring him as soon as I can,” the detective replied through gritted teeth, briefly looking back into his office before continuing. “Inform him I have an **internal matter** to attend to first, Constable.” His words were measured, clipped, and concise.   

“Y… y… yes, sir,” Collins managed to squeak out before having the door unceremoniously shut in his face. He paused a moment to take a much-needed breath and heard the distinct ‘click’ of the door lock being engaged.  

Not wanting to be anywhere near when that raging storm reached its inevitable end, Hugh hot-footed it back to the Interview Room to relay the message to the Deputy Commissioner, and, hopefully, usher him out before the dam burst.  

 

* * *

 

Inside the office, the tension was palpable, the air electric, crackling, and charged.   

"Now, where was I?” Jack pondered, almost to himself.  

“I believe, In-spec-tor...” Phryne intoned through pursed lips and a forced smile, “you were about to thank me for helping you apprehend your suspect.”  

He chuffed. “ **Thank** you?!” he blurted in disbelief, aghast.  

“You’re quite welcome, Jack.” She crowed triumphantly.  

“You CAN’T be **serious**!” He spun, one hand tucking past his jacket to rest on his hip, the other, fingers swiping across his shaking forehead. “No... of course not. That’s right, as I recall, you haven’t taken anything seriously since 1918.” It was his turn to sport a sardonic and exultant smile.  

Quicker than a wink, a biscuit from the tin atop the mantle was hurled at him. He instinctively reached up and intercepted it before impact, automatically bringing it up to his lips and taking a bite.  

“Aaaugh!” his assailant cried out, frustrated, her outburst breaking him out of his reverie.  

He was about to finish off the biscuit with a second bite, when another came hurtling towards him; this time in the vicinity of his head. Without thinking, he dropped the half-eaten biscuit on his desk, ducked his head, and snatched the incoming projectile out of the air, taking a bite out of it as well.  

A roaring growl preceded the next missile, which of course, he deftly seized and reduced by half before setting the uneaten portion on his blotter to accompany the others in anticipation of a possible next round.  

“Stop that!” she shrieked. 

Jack chuffed around the mouthful of biscuit and swallowed before responding. “What? Stop eating my biscuits?”  

“Yes!!” she shouted petulantly, pelting the last of the ammunition at him. “Stop DOING that!!”   

He caught it, and again took a bite before depositing the remainder with the rest. “They’re MY biscuits! **You’re** the one lobbing them at **me** , Miss Fisher! What did you expect me to do? Let them fall to the floor? Tsk, tsk. You should know me better than that. Waste not, want not.” 

He considered his last statement momentarily, shrugged and reached over to nip one of the half-eaten biscuits. As he popped it into his mouth, he continued. “I'm not one to waste a perfectly good biscuit.” Jack munched, knowing full-well, his actions were antagonizing her. The corner of his mouth creased in smug satisfaction.   

“Don’t be smart, Jack.” Eyes and body slanting in his direction, seething. 

“Well I dare say that would have smarted if they’d hit me,” he quipped, licking his lips, and brushing errant crumbs off his jacket. 

“Ha-ha-ha,” she sneered, squinted, and waggled her head, clearly unamused at his cheek. “Don’t try to be witty Jack,” she countered, surging toward his desk.  

“Well, with the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher around, I most certainly need to keep my wits about me.” He straightened as she neared. “After all, I'm merely a humble officer of the law.” Sarcasm dripped from his words as he mockingly bowed to her.

“Stop that!” She pouted, stamping her foot, stopping in front of him.   

“Stop WHAT?" He inquired, straight faced.  

“Stop skirting the issue.” She emphasized her statement by poking him forcefully in the chest. After. Each. Word.  

“Ow!” The detective winced as her forefinger repeatedly and painfully plunged into the top juncture of his rib cage. “I think in this particular instance, your skirt IS the issue,” he said, making a point to glare at said item.

“No. It’s. **Not**.” She continued, punctuating each jab.  

He seized the hand that was poking him in a move that was equal parts self-preservation and injury prevention.  The irritation on his face was evident, warning “I’ve a mind to charge you with assaulting an officer.”  

“Still trying to clap me in irons, eh, Jack? I thought it was too much paperwork?” She tried wriggling out of his grasp to no avail. “Besides, I doubt you'd get the charges to stick,” she challenged, confident in her supposition.  

“That may be,” he agreed, with a shrug, “but I think some time to cool your heels in the cells might be just the thing you need to get yourself under control.”  

“I had it under control-” She, again, attempted to pull her hand away, only to have him clamp down on it even tighter, not allowing her to escape.

“No, Miss Fisher! You did NOT! Not in the **least**! As evidenced by the shredded remnants of your dress.” He ground out, temper rising again. He pointedly looked down at her jagged hemline; a minute crack in his otherwise stolid expression his only reaction. “At least I can depend on my **men** to follow orders... whereas **you** …”  

“I’m not one of your **underlings** , Jack,” she spat out, harshly clicking the last consonant. She jerked her hand away, finally managing to release it from his grip. The sudden motion propelled her back a step, and she struggled to maintain her balance. “I’m not some DOG who can be brought to heel.” Her chin jutted up and out in a clear move of bravado; she crossed her arms over her chest, creating a shield.  

“No, you aren’t. A **dog** would have better sense!” His hands flailed in exasperation. “And you certainly aren’t one of my officers, because they’re **trained** to follow orders, not to mention a little thing called ‘the law.’ THEY know enough to inform their superior of any potential danger, AND know when to call for **back-up**.”   

“Superior, hmm. I suppose you're inferring that I'm somehow INFERIOR… to you?!” she erupted in a burst of pique. “I may not have the training your officers do, but my instincts are JUST as sharp, if not **sharper**. Besides…” her voice wavered, rising in tone, “I knew you'd be there, I wasn’t worried.” Her voice belied her words; the last few words pitching higher.  

“That’s not the **point** , Phryne!” He shouted at her, raw emotion, consuming his visage. Jack’s hands were fisted once more, this time hanging at his sides, trembling, shaking, devoid of color. He turned away from her to face his desk. Seemingly of its own accord, one row of white knuckles slammed down on the desk, crushing the discarded biscuits into a pile of crumbs.  

A loud gasp on the other side of the room broke the reverberating silence, followed by several sharp breaths while he attempted to reign in his rage and regain his composure.   

Phryne looked on in fear. Fight or flight raged a perilous battle inside of her; her stomach plummeted, pupils dilated, and her heart raced, threatening to burst from her throat. She froze, unable to move.  

Jack slowly clenched and released the fist still hanging at his side, then brought his right hand off the desktop. He shook it, ridding it of biscuit crumbs, but not the throbbing pain that advanced up his fingers and into his wrist. Both hands disappeared in front of him and his head slowly lowered until chin met chest.   

“I...” she hesitated, her voice small, anxious, and unsure. She took a tentative step towards the detective, reaching a hand towards his shoulder. Phryne flinched when his head rose and he started to turn in her direction, but she stood her ground. 

The face that met hers was a raging tempest. Her eyes swept across it trying to read every minute detail as each emotion flashed for an instant, one swirling into the next in a rapid succession - agitation, fear, anguish, terror, agony, grief, anxiety, fury, misery... 

Her heart snapped. 

* * *

 

Wild eyes held her intense gaze for a moment, then became unfocused and erratic. “I... when I saw Simms lunge at you with that knife... and repeatedly shred your dress...” His jaw clenched, creating hollows in his cheeks. “I thought I was too late.” Jack lowered his head, unable to look at her. “I wanted to rip him limb from limb.” He drew in a stuttering breath. “I almost did.”   

“I should have told you. I… I’m sorry...” a delicate hand reached up to brush his cheek.  

“No. Don’t!” he blurted out, shrugging away from her and shaking his head, trying to clear it. “Don’t apologize. Just **don’t** … I can’t…” Jack took a step away from his desk, gritting his teeth, raising both hands as if they’d been burned, trying to distance himself from the object of his distress. “Just - just go…” his voice cracked. A limp hand gestured feebly towards the rear door. 

“Jack, please…” she pleaded to the expanse of his back which now faced her.  

He remained stock still, a frisson of emotion rolling off him in waves. Apparently, the ‘discussion’ was over. His silence an indication that all lines of communication were now closed.  

 ** _Fine!_** _If that’s the way he wants it, then he can **ROT** for all I care!_ Righteous anger fueled the fire burning in her. Phryne Fisher kowtowed to **no** man! Nor did she beg! 

She strode purposefully towards the door he’d pointed to, forcefully grabbing the knob. It didn’t budge. In her agitated state she struggled to remove herself from the room, and his presence. Jerking and twisting the handle, her hand fumbled and slipped over the knob; in her rush to flee, she hadn’t thought to try the lock.

Anxious to escape, she yelled, frustrated. “Aaagh! Let me OUT of here!” continuing to tug on the locked doorknob to no avail, rational thought obliterated by a sudden feeling of claustrophobia and being trapped. 

Jack turned to see her quarreling with the door, and moved to unlock it, thereby releasing her from his presence, and potentially his life. This sudden realization hit him like a death blow; he panicked. He seized her wrists, pulling them away from the doorknob. 

“Let me GO!” she protested, trying to jerk out of his tight grip. 

“I can’t. Don’t you know that I can’t,” he whispered hollowly. 

“You’re HURTING me!” She continued to wriggle, hoping to escape his grasp once again. 

He dropped her hands as if he’d been shocked. He looked down at his own hands in utter disbelief, as if they were some sort of foreign objects outside of his control.

“I’m sorry. Forgive me. I never meant… I never wanted…” He tried to refocus, but his concentration seemed to crumble in an instant. “You hurt me, Phryne. Wounded me.”

“What are you talking about, Jack?! Stop being so melodramatic! None of the biscuits actually HIT you, and surely a **jab** or two isn’t going to leave a bruise, let alone a **wound**. I may have bruised your EGO, but -”

In one swift motion, he clutched her upper arms and pushed her back into the map that lined the back wall. He captured her lips in a fervid kiss, his tongue desperately seeking entrance past their enticing scarlet perimeter.

An instant later she was savagely kissing him back, all of the built up tension breaking in a heartbeat, flooding them with an intensity of emotion. She grabbed his lapels, dragging him in closer. 

He threaded his hands into her hair, shoving off her hat, hands cradling her head, tendons stretching and straining as he deepened their kiss. 

She rolled against the wall in order to get better purchase, slamming HIM against the wall, pressing her body into his, managing to knock them into the coat rack. It fell with a loud clatter, unnoticed, as they worked their way along the wall kissing and clawing at each other, pulling and tugging at one another’s clothing. 

In her imperative of hands needing to feel skin, Phryne managed to yank Jack’s shirt from the waistband of his trousers as they continued their reckless, frenzied romp through the office until she was stopped short at the edge of his desk.  

Jack reached around behind her and cleared the surface in one sweep, sending everything on the desktop flying and crashing loudly to the floor.

He leaned in and kissed her slowly, languidly, losing himself in velvet sensation, tongues tasting, sampling, exploring, letting his hands wander down the elegant column of her neck.

She ran her fingers through his thick waves of chestnut, releasing them from their pomaded hold, luxuriating in the lustrous texture. Her hands stroked and threaded through the strands, tracing the curve of his skull, tickling the short hairs at his nape, sending a wave of gooseflesh skittering along his skin. She’d always suspected his hair was soft. Now that she had free reign of his locks, the impulse to grab a handful and pull him closer overwhelmed her, and Phryne Fisher was never one to deny her impulses.

Her insistent tug pulled a moan from deep within his belly, urging her on. He retaliated by pushing her down on the desk, covering her clavicle with kisses. Rough hands surrounded her breasts, kneading them, flicking thumbs across taut nipples that were straining against the fabric of her dress.

She hissed, pushing a hand on the desktop trying to right herself. “Jaa…” Words failed her as a surge of electricity rushed along her skin as she sat up.

Phryne hitched up her torn skirt and re-perched on the desk, grabbing Jack’s belt to draw him nearer, fumbling with the buckle as she did. He loosened his hold on her to assist with her endeavor; practiced hands released the buckle, and opened his fly in mere seconds.  

“Mmm,” she moaned as her hand snaked down his trousers, under his smalls.  

“Unnnnhhh,” he groaned as her delicate hand wrapped around his rigid erection, her grasp firm and steady.  

She began pumping his cock, running her hand up and down his shaft, twisting and squeezing. His thighs shuddered as she ran her palm over the moistened head, spreading the bead of precum down his length. 

That was all the impetus he needed. He rucked up the shreds of her skirt and reached into her knickers, running a calloused finger along her hot, slick folds.

She gasped, panting. Urgency drove her to drag her hand out of his smalls to pull and tear at her knickers, in the desperate need for flesh on flesh.

Realizing what she was doing, Jack leaned her back and she raised her pert bottom from the desk so he could slither the meager scraps of silk satin down and off her exquisite legs. She stretched her hand out for them, but he twisted his hand out of her reach, bringing her knickers to his nose. He drew in a deep draught at their wet center; a feral growl escaped his lips before he licked the dampened fabric, sucking it greedily into his mouth. Golden lashes fluttered shut at the onslaught to his senses, and another throaty moan was wrested from deep within. 

The sound of his moan triggered a quivering flutter in her quim, flooding her with languid warmth, robbing her of breath and setting her skin aflame.  

“Need you… now…” his voice hoarse and low, rumbled deep in his belly.

“Yesss...” 

Jack pocketed her soaked knickers. “There’s no going back… Are you certain?” he trailed off. 

“Yes!” she rasped, then whimpered, “No.”

“Yes, no?” His face contorted, puzzled.

“God yes! I want you. Now! But…”

“But?” he was poised on the edge of the desk, balancing on the edge of sanity, nerves raw and aching, body trembling.

When she rolled her eyes in frustration, realization dawned. “Your ‘internal device’?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

She shook her head and buried it on his chest, hands stroking down his lapels, landing on his hips. 

His lids closed and his head dipped, resting on hers. They stayed that way for several labored breaths. He kissed her silken locks, then set his finger and thumb under her chin to raise her face to his. “Do you trust me?” 

Their eyes met and locked; her answer, a single word. “Absolutely.” 

The gravity and scope of her admission was not lost on him, and it almost made him come right then and there. Taking a deep breath and drawing on his reserves, he prayed that he’d be able to last.

As they had been talking, Phryne had slowly been snaking her legs around his, effectively wrapping him in the circle of her legs.

“Nnngh!” she murmured, locking her ankles behind his firm derrière.

Jack pulled back slightly at the sound only to find himself trapped within the vice grip that was Miss Fisher’s thighs. His hardness nestled snugly against her hot, wet core, their intimate flesh separated only by a thin layer of cotton. She gripped and released her thighs several times in quick succession, leaving a wet mark on his smalls, branding him with her essence.

“Fffuu…!” he shuddered, his head falling back as he struggled for breath. “Want…” he pleaded, curling his head forward. He rested his hands on her thighs and gently pried them open, releasing their grasp on his hips. He shoved down his smalls, taking trousers along with them until they pooled at his ankles; a lusty grin danced across his face as he rose.

Phryne’s eyes blew wide as she took in the sight of his cock now freed from its trappings. Her mouth watered and her cunt echoed the sentiment, her body thrumming in anticipation. Her hands itched to take a hold of it again, to continue her previous ministrations and explorations, enveloping its velvet hardness in her grasp, then guide it into her pulsing, aching core.

“Ohhh, Jaaack…” she purred, reaching for his swollen member. When he captured her hand in his, she was caught off guard, confusion riddling her face.

“No, no,” he intoned in the sing song manner he employed when she was being overly assertive at his crime scenes, waggling his finger at her. “Only those who listen, and follow orders, get rewarded for their good behavior, Miss Fisher.” A slow, sultry smile spread across his face, lighting up his eyes.

The emergence of this playful side of him, a side she’d rarely seen before, excited her, sending a wave of gooseflesh along her skin, and a jolt throughout her body.

“And if they’re bad?” she smirked, eager to know more; her free hand wending its way down his chest towards his exposed privates.

“A reprimand would be in order.” He grabbed her wandering hand before it could reach its goal.

“What kind of reprimand?” His air of authority spurred her on, making her want to test these new boundaries.

“There are consequences to every action. The law of cause and effect as it were.” The sternness in his expression belied the undercurrent of sexual tension sparking between them.

“For instance, if I did this…” She kissed him, open mouthed and feverish, reaching her free hand around his neck, fingers stroking the velvet hairs at his nape.

He let her get carried away with her kisses for several moments before pinning her captured hand into the small of her back and drawing his body flush against hers. His sudden movement made her pause, her teeth pulling at his lower lip, releasing them with a ‘pop.’

“Well… that would mean I’d be obligated to…” he licked his lips, jounced his eyebrows, and proceeded trace his way up the long column of her porcelain neck, licking and leaving tiny nibbling kisses after each taste. He ran his tongue around the delicate curve of her helix, his lips grasping her lobe, teeth grazing and pressing into the softness of her tender flesh.

She gasped. And shuddered.

He smiled, his warm breath caressing her ear.

“And what would happen if I did this, Inspector?” Phryne loosened her hold on his thighs to slide both hands under his shirt, raking her nails up his chest, fingers spreading to stroke his pectoral muscles, thumbs rubbing circles around his nipples, pinching the erect points.

He hissed, jerking suddenly, eyes slamming shut.

“For _that_ particular infraction, regulations require me to…” Jack placed his hands on her thighs, unwrapping them from his. He pulled them wide, baring her hot, wet sex to his view. Large hands stroked up towards the apex of her thighs, thumbs skimming, teasing the edge of her dark nest of curls, sending tremors throughout her body. He traced around her damp center, coating his fingers with her essence, eliciting sipping gasps from her scarlet lips. A small crease dimpled the corner of his mouth, and a salacious twinkle lit up his eyes. Jack brought his soaked fingers to his nose, inhaling deeply before inserting them into his mouth and licking off every drop.

A low growl rumbled in his chest as a languorous smile slid across his face. Deft digits returned to her drenched heat, brushing and dipping past her nether lips, circling and flicking, sinking knuckle-deep into her pulsing channel, her inner walls clutching tightly, reluctant to let him slip away.

Incoherent sounds escaped her lips as she writhed under his hands, their relentless pace inciting her to reclaim his turgid length, and bring him within her.

“Please, Jack… just a little… I need… I want to feel you…” she pleaded, desperately, unable to put into words the cravings of her body.

“I feel… unnngh…” his breath hitched as her hand completed a rather intricate swirl around his hardening length. “I feeeel you may need further disciplining for your many, many infractions, Miss Fisher. Perhaps I should introduce you to my…” he gently extricated his erection from her talented hand and brushed the tip along her wet folds, causing her to shiver.

“Billy club?” she suggested seductively, her lips brushing lightly on his, her tongue stroking along their length, and dipping into his mouth.

“I assure you Miss Fisher, there is nothing short about my… nightstick, though I’m sure you’ll confirm the veracity of its… stoutness.” He leered, lasciviously, dipping into her slick, throbbing folds.

“Mmm… indeed, Inspector.” She gasped as he seated himself fully into her, pausing as her tight channel stretched to accept to his girth. She hummed in pleasure, moaning and mewling when he began to move.

He pumped into her once, twice, then slowly buried himself in her a third time, staying still, reveling in the pulsing of her muscles as they surrounded his engorged cock. It took all he had to withdraw, leaving the both of them gasping for breath.

“Aagh! Nnn… Noo! **Damn** you!” she cried out in protest, her head lolling back in frustration.

“I would think by now, Miss Fisher, you’d understand the dangers of not having proper back-up. Something I am, unfortunately, **painfully** aware of at this very moment.” He said with a wistful sigh, resting his forehead on hers. “I can’t. We can’t… not now. Not here.”

“Well, Inspector, we certainly cannot leave you hanging,” she said with a grin, harking back to their earlier conversation. “I’ll wager that in this particular instance, you might not object if…” she paused for effect, licking her lips and looking down at his glistening member. “If I ‘take matters into my own hands’ as it were?” she chuffed, remembering his previous comment to her, one that had had an altogether different meaning.

Phryne placed her hands on his shoulders, then carefully slid down the edge of the desk until her toes reached the floor, pausing for a moment to steady her wobbly legs against the desk. She straightened up and roughly turned him around, his trousers and smalls, still pooled at his ankles, binding his feet together. She placed her hands on his hips, and pushed his bare arse down on the desktop that hers had occupied only moments ago.

“You do know, Inspector, that there is a stiff penalty for early withdrawal,” she chastised him as she began to languidly stroke his cock, slicked with her essence.

He shuddered and leaned back, propping his elbows behind him on the desk in an attempt to steady himself. His eyes fluttered shut, and his head sagged back amidst the rush of sensation.

“Oh. GOD!” he moaned, every nerve alight.

Her smiling eyes raked his delicious form which was a study in contrasts: muscular thighs bared and draped over the side of the desk, arse cheeks clenched, prominently displaying his pulsing length, while his clothed upper half was still ensconced in his usual armor. His chestnut waves, freed from their usual pomade, were the icing on the cake, as if the last remnants of control had been let loose in a glorious tangle, begging to be carded through with deft fingers. Phryne increased her stroking until she had him throbbing from her relentless pace, bringing him to the precipice, then stopped.

“Damnit!” he shouted in protest, expelling the air from his lungs in a rush.

“I don’t know if you should be acquitted of your dereliction of duty, Jack.” She teased as she dusted her fingertip up the underside of his cock, and traced around its bobbing head.

His arms trembled, threatening to give out on him as his eyes went wild, searching her face, silently pleading for her to end his torture.

“But… I think it may be in both our best interests if I **release** you from these charges, at least for now. I’m sure you’ll find a way to make amends, satisfy the debt?” she drawled.

Her double entendres cut through his hazy mind, reaching him on a visceral level. He nodded in agreement, licking his lips in anticipation. Moments later, he was unable to restrain his reaction when she gripped him at his root and surrounded his velvet hardness with warm sensuous lips, her tongue tracing the edge of the head and dipping into its center.

She engulfed him completely, sinking down on him until his head met with the back of her throat. He slapped his hand down on the desk exclaiming, “CHRIST, Phryne!”

She continued for several more deep strokes, eliciting deep moaning from them both each time he butted against the back of her throat. She could feel the incremental tensing and drawing up of his testes and smiled, knowing his release was imminent.

Not wanting to oblige her to swallow his impending release, he tried to push her off, pull her away, but she wouldn’t budge. She was having none of it, or as it turned out, all of it. With one last draw up his shaft, her lips tightly hugged his length, the suction creating hollows in her cheeks. His cockhead was nestled deep in her mouth as he spilled down the back of her throat, sapping him of his seed and energy. His elbows finally gave way, causing him to collapse with a thud on the desktop, his head bounced slightly causing him (to continue) to see stars.

Phryne straightened up, dabbing the corner of her lips with the handkerchief she’d purloined from Jack’s trousers. A wide grin broke out on her face as she surveyed the half-naked body before her. Unable to resist, she folded her body over his, grazing her nails up his chest, causing him to shiver slightly. She kissed the corners of his mouth, her tongue licking along the length of his lips.

As her tongue sought entrance, he perked up, hungrily kissing her in return, tasting their combined flavors as their tongues entwined. They moaned in unison, continuing their kisses until they surfaced in their need for air.

“Good GOD woman! You’re going to be the death of me!” Jack panted, lowering his head to the desk once again, holding tight to the woman in his arms.

“Perhaps just a **little** death? Now and again…” she said mischievously, dabbing his mouth with his handkerchief, removing the smudges of her lipstick. “But in the meantime,” she began, perching her chin on crossed hands resting on his chest, “I would suggest we clean up as best we can, and continue this conversation in a more private, and…” Phryne looked around, taking in the state of the office, “appropriate setting?”

“Touché, Miss Fisher. Point well taken,” he agreed, rolling his eyes at the mess they’d made, his usually tidy office now in a state of utter disarray. Jack sat up, bringing Phryne with him, only to have her scrunch down in front of him. She grasped the waistband of his trousers and smalls, helping him to re-dress.

He smiled, bending and placing his hands over hers. “I think I can handle things from here, Miss Fisher, thank you.”

“Always trying to help, Jack.” She winked at him.

“Yes, you are,” he replied, tucking in his shirt and straightening his tie. “And therein lies the problem…”

“How can increasing your case solving rate be a problem?” she inquired as she smoothed her hands down the front of her shredded dress, then began to help him tidy up by retrieving his desktop items from the floor.

Jack picked up the coat rack, placed it in its usual location, and righted the wall map. He turned to face her, a hand perched on his hip.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate your help with solving cases. I do. It’s…” He raked his hand over his face, endeavoring to find a diplomatic way to tell her without antagonizing her.

“Stop pussyfooting around, Jack, just say it.” Miss Fisher blurted out, plopping down into the chair in front of his desk, propping her crossed feet on top.

He made his way over to the desk, perching on its corner in a trademark lean. He placed a hand on her stockinged ankle, absentmindedly stroking it as he spoke.

“I do appreciate the help you’ve been on my cases…”

“Our cases,” she interrupted, fluttering eyelashes, attempting a look and air of innocence.

“Our cases, my cases, yes,” he nodded, his hand halting its movement on her ankle as he searched for the right words. “But…” he began, then paused, sinking his hands into his trouser pockets. He crossed his feet at the ankles and looked down.

“But what, Jack?” she asked, eyes squinting, bracing for his next words.

“It’s not your assistance I have issue with Phryne. It’s the way you go about helping. More specifically your flagrant lack of concern for your own safety, or those around you.”

“As I mentioned previously Inspector, I knew what I was doing,” she said in a clipped manner, dragging her feet off the desk. She straightened up in her chair, her back ramrod straight.

“And as **I** pointed out, I did not.” He looked her in the eyes, his gaze unwavering. He could see a parade of thoughts pass over her face. Just as he could feel her hackles rise and sense she was about to bolt, he crouched down in front of her, gently resting his hands on the armrests of her chair.

“Let me out, Jack.” Miss Fisher squirmed in the chair.

He bowed his head, sighed, then nodded. “Hear me out, at least? Please, Phryne?” Jack removed his hands from the chair, presenting open palms, and stood. He took a step back, giving her some space.

“All right, Inspector. I’m all ears.” She crossed her legs and picked at several imaginary specks of lint on her ruined skirt.

“I know you are more than capable of handling just about anything that’s thrown in your direction. You’ve proven this on many an occasion. Quite admirably, I might add.” He met her eyes with a small smile.

“You are a strong, confident, capable, independent woman.” The truth and admiration in his words were reflected in his eyes as he continued. “Whose heart has the most amazing ability to care for even the most hopeless soul. But the one thing that you often forget in your need to prove yourself to the world (or yourself for that matter) is that there are some of us mere mortals who would be utterly devastated if you were to disappear from this earth.”

He looked down at his feet again, his hands fidgeting in his pockets, unable to meet her gaze.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is…” he worried his lower lip between his teeth, his stuttering inhale the only sound heard in the room.

“Oh, Jack…” Phryne stood, placing her hands on his chest and looked deeply into his stormy cerulean eyes. She cupped his cheek and leaned in to leave a gentle kiss on his lips.

He snaked a hand behind her head, threading long fingers through her silken locks and brought her in for a searing kiss.

She was the first to catch her breath. “I can’t guarantee I’ll remember to tell you all of my plans ahead of time, but I promise I’ll try.”

“Frankly, Miss Fisher,” he grinned at the beautiful woman in his arms, “there’s plenty I’m sure you shouldn’t… plausible deniability and all…” a tiny smile emerged at the corner of his mouth.

“Well… I think it’s safe to tell you of my plans to go home and get out of this ruined ensemble? Though I seem to be missing a vital part of its foundation…”

Jack’s hand plunged into his outer jacket pocket an retrieved her purloined knickers, once again bringing them to his nose and deeply inhaling their heady scent. He directed a lascivious smile in her direction as he tucked them into his inside breast pocket and patted the outside of his jacket.

“Consider it a fine. Payment for your earlier transgression,” he chuckled.

“Why, Detective Inspector, that’s utterly scandalous! I didn’t think you had it in you!” she gasped in an exaggerated manner releasing a high-pitched squeal and a peal of laughter.

“No? Well… “ he paused, grinning, “I certainly had it in **you**.”  Her laughter was contagious, and he couldn’t help being cheeky in the circumstances.

She threaded her hands down his lapels, “Jack Robinson! Whatever am I going to do with you?

“If I have my druthers, Miss Fisher, any number of things.” He reached around and clasped his hands around the pert globes of her derrière, squeezing them for emphasis.

They finally separated long enough to finish putting the office back to rights. He grabbed his coat and hat from the rack and unlocked the back door, while Phryne fished out her compact from her bag and checked her appearance. After touching up her lipstick, she trained her eyes on the inspector. She fussed with his tie momentarily, then smoothed her hands through his errant locks.

“I think it best that we be on our way, Miss Fisher. I, for one, feel the need for a proper debriefing. Away from prying eyes and ears, as it were,” he grinned at his double entendre as he extended his arm towards her in the direction of the front door.

Her eyes lit up with unabashed glee, and she grinned from ear to ear.

“I think it might be helpful, though, if you were to appear to be at least somewhat contrite as we exit, it might go a long way in keeping tongues from wagging.” He suggested as they reached the door.

Phryne turned to look at him, ready to protest, but the twinkle in his eyes belied the stern demeanor of his voice. She leaned in, her warm breath caressing his ear, and whispered, “I appreciate your desire to prevent that in the office, but I can’t guarantee what this tongue may or may not do outside this office.”

A jolt ran down his spine and reignited the fire in his belly, thereby creating the need to drape his overcoat over his arm in front of him. _Damn that woman!_ But... truth be told, he was as much at fault.

“Collins,” the detective started as he approached the counter, Miss Fisher in tow, “please ring the Deputy Commissioner and let him know that I will contact him first thing in the morning.”

“Right, sir,” the nervous young constable replied.

“Hopefully by then I will have impressed on Miss Fisher the need to follow protocol whilst having proper back-up.”

Phryne did her best to appear properly repentant.

“Good night, Collins.”

“Good night, sir. Miss,” he replied, clearing his throat, and nodding.

Once the Inspector and Miss Fisher had left, Hugh let out the breath he had been holding. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his boss that hot and bothered. _Hmmph. Figures she’d get off easy after a cockup like that._

He eyed the stack of paperwork before him, shook his head to clear it, and got down to business.


End file.
